Heartwarming and emotional story of one girl's courage in WW2 by Fenella Miller (top 10 ebook reader txt) 📗

Greg stopped her. ‘I’ll drive you down. Remember, I’ve agreed to help out until Jack’s on his feet again.’

‘Thank you. Good night.’

There was no sound coming from the kitchen and when she looked in it was empty. Dad must have seen the time and gone back to bed as well. Heaven knows what Mrs B was going to think when she saw the mess she had to clear away before she could get on with anything else.

Although they had a real bathroom, with hot and cold running water, all the rooms still had a washstand and large china jug and basin. She made good use of that before tumbling into bed.

*

When she went down just after seven the next morning the place was spotless and the new housekeeper beamed as she came in. ‘What a palaver! These old ranges can be very temperamental. Your dad’s had his breakfast and gone off to do the milking.’ Her ample frame was enveloped in a yellow, floral wraparound apron and her frizzy brown hair was hidden under a headscarf.

‘I’m sorry you had all this to do before you started today. Did my dad ask if you wanted to live in?’

‘He did and I’d be right grateful. Just until your ma comes back, of course. Be ever so helpful living here and I can do all the bottling, jam making and pickling for you. Pity to waste all the soft fruit and vegetables from your veg garden.’

‘Nothing cooked for me, thank you, I only have toast and marmalade.’

‘No wonder you’ve got no flesh on your bones, Ellie. You should eat more. Cooked breakfast would do you good.’

Greg wandered in and Ellie introduced him. ‘I couldn’t help overhearing, Mrs B, and I’d certainly like whatever you’re cooking. It smells delicious. Jack’s still asleep. I expect he’ll come down later.’

Half an hour later they were on their way and she felt strangely comfortable in his company. She supposed having shared so much over the past few days meant they were closer than they would otherwise be.

She glanced sideways and he smiled. He really was a very attractive young man. She much preferred corn coloured hair and blue eyes to red hair and green eyes.

‘I’ve been thinking about Jack’s Uncle Joe. He must have known what was in that envelope and I’m thinking that’s why my dad allowed him to set up his airfield here and even lent him the money to buy the new de Havilland Tiger Moth.’

‘Blackmailed him, you mean?’

‘Something like that. When you think about it there has to be something fishy – otherwise why would someone from the East End come to Glebe Farm and not go somewhere else? Too much of a coincidence, if you want my opinion.’

‘You could be right. No point in worrying about it now as the airfield belongs to Jack. You can always ask your father if you really want to know.’

‘I’m not going to mention it. He would have done it to protect my mum. With him family is more important than anything else. I just wish she was as loyal as he is.’ Something nasty occurred to her. ‘Do you think she’s a fascist too? I do hope not. Don’t turn down the track, I want to go into the village and post this letter to my grandfather before we go to the airfield.’

*

Mrs B was the only one in the house when Jack eventually found the energy to get dressed and go downstairs. She greeted him with a friendly smile and the offer of a cooked breakfast which he declined.

He could do with his car back but couldn’t think of a way to get it unless he cadged a lift into Romford and caught the train to London and collected it himself. There was no point in borrowing old Fred’s truck as then someone would still have to drive it back from the station. He was wearing togs borrowed from Greg and needed to get his own things some time today, perhaps he could use it for that. He’d ask him when he came back for lunch. Ellie had offered to go this evening, but he didn’t want to wait that long.

He wandered outside into the sunshine and spotted Ellie’s bicycle leaning drunkenly against the wall. It was only a couple of miles to the village – surely he could manage that even with one duff arm? There was a large wicker basket attached to the front handlebars and a rack over the back mudguard.

He should really put the saddle up but, apart from not knowing where to find the necessary spanner, he only had one good arm so wouldn’t be able to do it anyway. He found it strange riding a lady’s bicycle but soon got the hang of it.

His landlady handed him his belongings and closed the door as if she couldn’t wait to be rid of him. He’d had the forethought to bring a couple of lengths of string with him and, with some difficulty, finally achieved his objective. The suitcase was tied to the back and the kitbag balanced in the front basket.

This meant his vision was obscured and he had to peer over the top of his luggage in order to be able to see where he was going. The last half a mile was downhill so he could allow gravity to do the rest.

Fred was in the yard with two blokes who must be his labourers. He was greeted with a wave. ‘Go on in, lad, we’ll bring in your stuff. You shouldn’t be peddling about the place, not in your condition.’

‘I’m all right, thanks. I’m bushed, but nothing a bit of lunch and a cup of tea won’t put right.’

*

After lunch he was left to his own devices. Unpacking didn’t take long and he had the rest of the afternoon to kill. He kicked off his shoes and stretched out on the candlewick bedspread. Jimmy had told him to rest as much as